"Oh, honey, why didn't you change?" Christina fixed her lip gloss, gazing into small compact, before she closed it with a snap. "A Charlie Brown hoodie?" She prodded at my clothing choice, as if surprised I would stoop so low.
"I didn't have time." Sol was my ride, and my session with my psychiatrist ended when she arrived to pick me up. She assured me, as best friends always do, that I looked gorgeous. It is just a bridal shower, with gifts and stylish women bonding over drinks and food. I was surprised the bride ever let me come at all. She mainly invited Sol, but Sol asked Hailey if she could "bring her bestie." I sucked in a breath, awaiting the next blow of pointed looks from Christina.
"Well, planning ahead is always best. I learned from that mistake often enough." The girl moved on from her lips to her mascara. I loved makup just as the next girl, but half of the time people saw my face, it was bare, blemished, and shiny. Christina had flawless skin, no pores at all, it seemed. No wonder she spent her days on small film projects, auditions, and modeling. She was driven. Unlike me. I just had not found my niche, and there was little chance I would. I refused to abide a pointed nose in the air any longer, and I used every ounce of energy I owned to keep the anger inside my body.
"I'm going to use the restroom." I stood abruptly, Christina, startled by my declaration.
"Good idea, Nylon. Sol will be able to help you tame that hair." The party was about to start, and Hailey, the kind soul she was, waved in my direction. I swallowed my indignation once more at the sound of the woman in the chair beside my own, getting my name wrong. She was the definition of rude, and if one more person was that demanding of their high opinion again, I thought I might strangle them.
"At least mine is fixable. Yours requires constant supervision." I listened to her display of contempt behind me, as I stalked toward the lady's bathroom. On my way there, I brushed against a shoulder. Freckles adorned his face.
"I'm sorry." What was a man doing at a bridal party?
"No worries." He says, and I continued my race to the door. Sol stood there like a telescope-eyed goldfish, reading the smeared message on the long series of mirrors.
"Did you do that?" I asked, knowing well that Sol loved lipstick and writing messages. I once found an entire poem on a outfit in my closet, listing all the reasons why it was the Devil's vomit. She then promoted a trendier and more appropriate outfit for me to wear. I stuck to the Devil's vomit and remained comfortable in it.
"Nah, mine is apple-red. This is hot pink." Sol wiped off a little with her finger, sniffing it. "Smells like dung paste. Whoever did this, got the cheap stuff." I rolled my eyes, and resorted to reading the directions.
1. Read the directions. (Simple enough)
2. Think of your fondest memory
3. Think of your worst memory, but with your eyes closed.
4. Wash your face with water using the sink directly in front of you.
5. Walk into the stall directly behind you.
"What kind of ritual is this supposed to be?
"Weird, huh?" Sol snapped photos using her iPhone, then adjusted her black skirt. "They forgot to mention clicking our heels and shouting the words 'there's no place like home.'" I glared at her. "We should do it," she says.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Live a little! Nothing is going to happen right?"
"Logically, no." I fiddle with my necklace, before it fell off into my palm. Perfect. Another thing in my life, broken. When I put it in my pocket, I focus on Sol again.
"Well, if you think about it, Logically, then there is nothing to be afraid of."
"I never said I was afraid to try it," I chuckle.
"Your father's martial arts school paid off then, the universe should fear you." Sol shoved me forward, then took her place at the sink beside mine. We both Read the directions again, and then my mind floated into my most cherished memory.
My knees were scraped, burning with trickles of blood. My dad and my mom, both rushed to my side. I had fallen from the railing and into my sister's rock garden.
"You're alright, Missy. Stand up," dad says. The hurricane of tears in my two-year-old eyes, did not deter him from yakning on my arm to force me to my feet.
"Honey, please, let her go," mom pleads. My brother, watched from inside the house, disturbed by their harsh treatment toward me.
"I'll take care of it!" He shouts. My elder brother runs to my aid. "You don't have to worry. I will help her."
"Fine, take the child inside." Mom sighed The child...as if I did not have a name. She stayed behind. Brother carried me, tender and gentle with his movements, to the bathroom. With a cold wash rag, he cleaned away the blood and dirt.
"Thank you!" I cheered when he peeled open a band-aid.
"I love you, Nyrah." He hugged my small body, before letting me scamper off to play, pebbles trailing.
When I closed my eyes, the nightmare began. My dad, shoving my crayon scribbles away from him. "Daddy, this is you, and this is me sitting in your lap!"
"I have to go, bother your mother."
"Jeremiah, please, don't say things like that to her." Mom's brown hair, matched my own. I loved playing with it when she would snuggle me close at night. Sometimes she would climb into bed with me, holding me close. I always remained safe.
"Two children is plenty, but you had to insist on this one too." His withered face turned grave. Serious.
"Hon, why don't you take your daughter fishing? You two always seem to get along when you take her." She said, overlooking the menace in his statement.
"Later," dad glared at me, then at my mother, "I have a class to run in the next half-hour. Be back before supper."
After daddy got home, I tried to get my sister to play with me. "I have to cook dinner, Ny. We can play another time," She said. I attempted to sneak in her room instead, but she closed the door. "Don't even think about it." I was way past thinking about it; I was plotting. The aromas of my favorite meal wafting up the stairs could not deter me. My sister had strange things. Little pillows wrapped in plastic buried in her bedside drawer, unmatched studs in her jewelry box, or even a poster of a terrifying creature. The bald, sharp-teethed monster held a glowing ring between two gnarled fingers. See? Weird things. Who would want a picture of that on their wall?
My sister's bed was plush with cotton candy blankets, and the walls were red. The room reminded me of Valentines Day. My brother explained what that day was. It was the reason for daddy bringing mama flowers weeks ago. I looted through her things, but then saw something. Scented candles. One smelled of apple pie, and the little box of matches, that everyone told me to never touch, turned into a brazen beacon for good fun. It took a few seconds, but the spark eventually frightened me, and bit my hand in the process. I dropped the lit match, watching as the flames bloomed from the carpet. I was going to be in huge trouble, so I hid. I scurried down the stairs, forsaking the smell of smoke, and told mama I was going out to climb on the jungle gym. Smoke from the kitchen made the detectors blare and whine till my eardrums came close to bleeding.
"That's fine, sweety, have fun." Mama rushes to the stove. "What happened to the soup?" She shouts at my sister.
"I'm sorry, I only went to use the bathroom!" Potatoes and cheese rolled over the lip of the pot. Dad and my brother came to see what was wrong, and I shut the sliding glass door.
My eyes fluttered open, and Sol was waiting in expectation. We both washed our faces with plain water.
"Took ya long enough to think of something," she pointed to the stalls with her head, "It's time to go in." And that is what we did.
She must have been screaming for a year, before crashing down onto someone. The masked man beneath her is not very enthused about her crushing his body against the slick alleyway. Something sharp jabs into Sol's side, and is left with an open mouth, sputtering for oxygen and voice. She shudders, in too much pain too scream, but I find the courage to gurgle out one word.
"Oliver," her lungs heave every breath, as the air turns into pure gravity. Of course, she didn't really believe this man to be Oliver Queen, but the hood looks exactly like...where is Nyrah? Is she here too? Sol remembers a dozen of warped colors, and the sensation of being sucked into an endless nothing, until now. Anything is possible right now, including the possibility of her tangled on top of the Green Arrow. She also has an arrow protruding from her flesh, so, yeah...He rolls Sol over into a puddle, and her brown eyes search his soulful blue ones.
"Who are you?" His voice growls; he uses Sol as a pincushion, and then he demands answers? He may be terrifying, but she also has a temper to outmatch his intimidation.
"Why did you stab me?" she challenges, "I never chose to land on you, but you certainly chose to-." He stands above her bleeding body, and puts a finger over his mouth, silencing her rage.
Shuffling in the distance, causes Sol's fear to wander.
"I have to go. Get yourself to a hospital; the wound isn't fatal." And with that, he strides over her, running up walls and jumping rooftops. He must have someone more important to kill.
The clamor in my ears fades, bringing Fiona's voice back into focus. She stopped Jude and I while on our short walk. I don't know why he requested this. It's freezing, but he does not appear bothered by the icy wind. She asked us why we were out here, and of course Jude, with his clear, but unclear answer, quoted some poet I do not recognize.
"I'll connect with you in a few days, Fiona. I would love an update on what's going in in your life," I say.
"Oh, well, there is nothing much to share, but I would love that very much." When Fiona leaves, Jude stares at me. "What is it?" I ask.
"Your eyes sparkle. That's all." I suppose this is his attempt in being charming.
"Thank you." I cinch my coat tighter, not taking the man's arm when he offers it. "You know, I cannot help but think that I'ce seen you somewhere before, or even met you." He halts in his wake, adjusting his gloves.
"Impossible. You are thinking of my first time in town, surely."
"...No, I don't believe so." When he doesn't answer, I think to myself, "I sure could use a Mountain Dew."
Jude smirks, "Do you drink dew from the mountains often, Miss Sutton?" And...I said that out loud. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes shift back and forth.
"Not exactly."
"That's alright, no need to explain." He smells extra manly this mornin, his sandy hair is more tame than normal, and is more mysterious than ever. He reminds me of Lucas, because when I first saw Lucas on When Calls the Heart, I wasn't certain whether to love him, or be suspicious of him.
"What is the book about?"
"What?" He is confused.
"This book you are writing."
"Oh, that," he chortles, "I deal solely in the aspect of what the future could be. Your character is able to travel, never aging. This ends in a sort of heartbreak which never heals. I narrowed down my character template to you, and one other." His words prick my ears to hear every detail. I traveled to the past. Is he serious about the non-aging thing? "This is strictly fictional, Nyrah."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying, that your face believes something that is not true." He is testing my patience. No more riddles. I don't care how blunt I thought he was before, I'm sick of the riddles.
"Will you please, talk in a straight line?" My knuckles are white.
"My words make perfect sense if you search their meaning."
"Well, I'm not one of those philosophical types."
"Learn to be." When Jude drops me off at the Coulter's, I'm foaming at the mouth. "Learn to be," he says. "My words make perfect sense," he says. He knows too much, but I'm not certain what it is he knows. I lock myself in my room, slide down the door, and allow everything to drag me to the floor, my body wilting with stress. My family. My orphaned childhood. Christine's mean comments. My job. How I got here. All the change in my life since I woke up in that stupid boat. My life. For the first time in years, a tear trickles down my neck. Then another. Soon, the room erupts in thunderous cries, and there I lay, crumpled on the floorboards, not one ounce of courage to sit up.
I must be on a role, or something. This is the most chapters I have finished in this amount of time. I try to keep it around 2,000 words each, and I hope that is long enough for all of you. It's kind of interesting. You make comments, thinking something is going to happen, and it just happens to be what I plan to answer in the next chapters. That's cool. Stay tuned for more!